


Forgiveness

by Dreamicide



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamicide/pseuds/Dreamicide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fakir and Mytho have a much-needed conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place the morning after the season one finale.

Fakir woke with a start.

It only took one scan of his surroundings for him to realize he was back inside his academy dorm room. But how did he get there? The last thing he remembered was—

“Oh Fakir, you’re awake.” Mytho lowered his leg from the barre at the corner of their room, dressed in his practice clothes. Dancing. Even now, he was always dancing. Just like he did with Tutu, in front of Edel’s burning flame…

When Fakir tried sitting up in his bed, he winced, his hand automatically reaching for his chest. At some point someone had changed his clothes and redid all his bandages, as well as adding more for the wounds he recently acquired. He glanced up to see Mytho approaching him. “How long have I been out?”

“One night.” It was almost surreal to be answered with anything other than  _I don’t know_. “Tutu and I danced before the fire… and when the embers died down, you had fallen asleep.”

_Fell unconscious, more like,_  Fakir thought wryly to himself. “Where’s Ahi—” He quickly bit his tongue before finishing the slip up. “… Where is Tutu?”

Mytho didn’t seem to notice. “She helped me carry you here, but left after dressing your wounds. I don’t know where she is.” Fakir wondered if it was an unconscious movement that made Mytho’s fingers lightly brush over the area of his heart. “… But I do want to know.”

A few quiet moments passed. Fakir could see with his very eyes as Mytho grew and adapted to his newfound emotions, could see the way the desire for knowledge scratched incessantly in his words, but Fakir remained silent. Something in him just felt it wasn’t his place to reveal Tutu’s true identity just yet. Not without her knowing.

He didn’t realize how long he had been still until Mytho tilted his head to the side. “Is something wrong, Fakir?”

“Um.” He shook his head, as if ridding the stray thoughts. “I guess I was just noticing how different you are.”

“Different?”

_Surely you of all people would have noticed._  “You’re much more lucid. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a long conversation with you before in my life.”

“Is that bad?”

“Dummy. You tell me.” He leaned back against the pillows with a worn out sigh, grimacing slightly at the pain underneath his bandages. “Weren’t you the one who said it’s better to restore your heart? You have a will of your own, now.” He cast a glance to the side, before going back to his lap. “I just need to get used to it, is all.” Mytho’s the one who had to cope with suddenly having so many emotions, after all. If he could adapt, so could Fakir.

Mytho didn’t chuckle (did he even have the required feeling to at this point?) but his lips did curve into a small smile at that. “Right. I do not think… at least, the way I am now, I do not feel it a bad thing. I want to find as many heart shards as I can, enough to be fully restored to my former self.” His fingers tensed just slightly over his heart. “I know why, but the memories of it…”

Fakir looked at him then. “… You don’t remember?” In all honesty, he didn’t really understand how the entire spell worked. The heart shards not only took away the prince’s emotions with them, but evidently his memories as well – Fakir could figure out that much in the years he spent hovering over him. But if Mytho gained some heart shards, wouldn’t it make sense to regain his memories right then, too?

Judging from Mytho’s words, that wasn’t the case. And he lightly shook his head. “Everything from the story… it is hazy. But I do recall afterwards. The memories I made with you and Charon,” he paused, reflecting. “And Raetsel and Rue.”

The memories he made only after his heart was shattered.

Fakir abruptly stilled, realization crawling upon his face.

That meant Mytho remembered all the harsh words and force Fakir pushed onto him for all those years. Every cutting insult, every strong grip, every pull of his hair as he forced him to look in the mirror and listen to Fakir’s shouts.

And the revelation that Mytho could now recall every moment with lucidity he never had before left Fakir feeling suddenly painfully aware of just how cruel he was. Now that Mytho was slowly returning to a person with a will, he could rightfully find Fakir unworthy and refuse him as his knight.

He grit his teeth and silently cursed himself.  _So it’s only now you reflect on it? The instant you realize you could be held accountable for it? Pathetic. You really are a coward_ , he spat internally. Ever since he first adopted the title, Fakir never really understood how much he just assumed he’d keep it. As long as Mytho remained heartless and unfeeling, Fakir could go on and call him his knight, all while keeping him locked in the dark.

And he didn’t realize just how badly he  _wanted_  to keep it, now that it was possible he could be refused. He couldn’t force Mytho to accept him as his knight. The prince had every right to turn him down.

Mytho couldn’t read Fakir’s thoughts as they all washed over him, and therefore didn’t immediately understand when Fakir managed to force words through the sudden tightness in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Again, Mytho’s head tilted. “… Why?”

Apologizing without preamble was a rather clumsy segue into the topic, but it was too late to start over now. His fingers gripped into the bed sheets. “You’ve needed to regain your heart. But all these years I’ve done everything I could to prevent it.” Full of shame, he glanced away. “Even restricting your freedom and causing you harm. I said it was all for the sake of protecting you, but… I was also afraid.”

As he spoke, Fakir glimpsed back and could tell in Mytho’s expressions that he was recalling everything mentioned. He should be able to remember Fakir locking him away just several days ago. The feeling of disappointment, sorrow, regret… what was he experiencing in that moment?

Fakir wasn’t sure what to make of Mytho’s silence. Unnerved, he went on. “… I’ve went against your will for all these years. I’m not worthy to call myself your knight.” Somehow admitting it out loud was worse than when it was internal. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, even though the words were true. Would he ever have even come to regret his actions if Mytho remained heartless forever…?

His thoughts were interrupted when Mytho finally responded. “Fakir… I do recall those memories. But,” he paused, once again his hand placing over the area of his heart, “I don’t know what it is I feel when I hear you say those words.”

Fakir sighed, his eyes still keeping a steady gaze over to the other side of the room. “I suppose it makes sense, considering you still don’t have your full heart yet.”

“Then I think… it would be better if you tell me those words again after I’ve finished restoring my heart.”

It was then when Fakir finally looked back at Mytho and met his eyes. They had a look in them he couldn’t decipher, reminding him yet how surreal it was to see Mytho exhibit any emotion at all.

But it was Mytho’s next words that surprised Fakir most of all. “Until then, will you remain as my knight?”

Fakir was immediately bewildered. “What?  _Why_? You just said you remembered everything.”

Mytho nodded. “I do. And though I can’t fully comprehend these feelings yet… yours have changed, yes? You won’t do those things again?”

Fakir could hear the emotion of curiosity in his voice. Releasing a long breath, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. “… Yeah.”

“Then wouldn’t it be best if you continued helping me as my knight? I want to be able to restore my heart as soon as possible and return to my duty as prince. If I had your help… and Tutu’s…”

Mytho was actually planning. Mytho was actually making  _sense_. And didn’t Fakir already vow to himself not to stray from the prince’s will again? Even if he was still frightened of the story moving, after the moment Mytho first wondered if it would be better for him to have his heart, Fakir eventually accepted that he couldn’t control the story from remaining stagnant anymore. The heartless prince was no longer completely heartless, no longer a doll. He had a will of his own, and Fakir should adhere to it. If that will request Fakir stay as his knight, then…

“… Yeah. I can do that.”

The corner of Mytho’s lips spread into a small smile, an expression he seemed to favor lately. “Then… once it’s over, you can tell me those words again.”

“… I will.”

And in the future, Fakir vowed to himself he would make a more proper apology.

Just then the first ring of the school bell echoed throughout the town, bringing Fakir back down to the here and now, letting them know they had approximately one hour before classes began. He groaned, pressing his fingers against his temple. “Monday.”

Mytho had already left to change clothes and get ready, as some automatic responses didn’t disappear just because one gained a few emotions here and there. Fakir attempted to get up and follow after, but the injuries stabbed at his chest, leaving him to fall back on the pillows with a pained grunt.

“You shouldn’t move too much,” Mytho said as he reappeared, dressed in his uniform. “Tutu said your newer wounds would need more time to heal.”

Fakir glared at the ceiling as the image of a bouncing and cheerful Ahiru flashed across his mind. “She should mind her own business.”

“I believe she’s right. You should rest, Fakir.” Finding his books, Mytho began to head toward the door. Reaching for the knob, he turned to glance back. “I will try to come back during break with more bandages and food. If I explain to Rue…”

Breaks between classes at Goldkrone Academy had involved a lot of back-and-forth spats between Fakir and Rue over who spent that time with Mytho, often ending in Rue clutching at Mytho’s arm and storming off in a huff. But that wasn’t the reason why Mytho’s words just then made Fakir start in realization.

Eyes wide, he suddenly lurched forward, ignoring the searing pain flaring across his chest with the abrupt movement. “ _Don’t talk to Rue!_ ”

Mytho stilled, staring at Fakir in puzzlement.

A few seconds of silence passed between them before Fakir swore at himself. He only just promised not to restrict Mytho anymore not even five minutes ago, and already he was shouting an order at him all over again.

He tried to amend it quickly. “That’s not – I didn’t mean like how it was before.” He paused to breathe, sorting out the words in his head. “Rue is actually Kraehe.”

“Rue is—?” If anything, Mytho at least had enough emotions and memories to process the revelation. He appeared stunned as it sank over him. “… Kraehe.”

Fakir hadn’t even realized until the last moment that Mytho probably hadn’t made the connection. Kraehe revealed her true form in front of Fakir and Ahiru, but the Mytho who danced with her then was an illusion.

“That’s her real self,” Fakir said through clenched teeth, feeling anger swelling beneath his skin. “She’s the one who has been trying to steal you and your heart this entire time. She’s the enemy.”

Mytho didn’t speak for several moments, his eyes cast to the side. Fakir wondered for a moment if he was still recovering from shock, though if anything his expression appeared more pensive.

Really, Fakir should have figured it out sooner. The little girl who called herself Rue and the Kraehe who appeared weeks ago had a striking resemblance, both always going on about how they would marry Mytho. And as the prince stood there frozen and still, Fakir wondered to himself if perhaps Mytho was able to make that connection as well, but simply couldn’t verbalize it.

Fakir sat back, mulling over his options. It really was dangerous to just let Mytho off to school by himself. He would be vulnerable to being attacked by Kraehe all over again. But he couldn’t just demand Mytho to stay; that would go against what he just vowed, and he did really need some supplies.

Finally, he drew a conclusion. “… If you see her again, or if any trouble happens, you should go to Ahiru.”

Mytho blinked. That was a person he had not thought of in a while. “Ahiru?”

“She’s – she knows Tutu,” Fakir lied. “Talk to Ahiru, and she will find Tutu for you.”

“I see…” Mytho smiled again. “So that means you trust Ahiru?”

“… I didn’t say that.” Fakir suddenly found he couldn’t look Mytho in the eye, and decided to glare off at the window curtains. “It just makes sense to go to her if I’m going to be stuck here for the time being.”

Stuck here. Useless.

Fakir’s expression turned sour.

“I see,” Mytho said again, evidently feeling it was safe enough to open and step through the door before looking back once more. “Then thank you, Fakir. I will try to come back shortly.”

He closed the door gently behind him, leaving Fakir alone with his thoughts. They weren’t quite pleasant.

Settling back down into the bed, he crossed his hands behind his head and glowered at the ceiling.

“So once again, I am the one who is coddled and protected…” he muttered bitterly. It was obviously Mytho’s instinct to protect the helpless that made him determined to go to school and bring back supplies for Fakir, even if that left him in danger. And Ahiru would be there as well, to protect him if needed.

Fakir closed his eyes.

“… Idiot.”


End file.
